The Law of Becoming: 4 (The Novels of the Jaran) (32 page)

“Are you criticizing your nephew, Mother Orzhekov?” asked Tess, biting down on a smile. She enjoyed hearing Irena Orzhekov cut Ilya down to size.

“I have not yet begun on you, my daughter,” replied Irena mildly.

“I have argued before that it is time to release Nadine from camp,” said Kira. “Birthing is difficult for her. There are enough Orzhekov children from which to choose the next Orzhekov dyan.”

“Yes,” agreed Irena, “but we have agreed that a child with the vision is more likely to come from the line whose grandfather was a Singer, that is, from the line of Alyona Orzhekov and Petre Sokolov.”

“But Nadine has two daughters now, who will in time have children,” argued Kira. “They may prove stronger. Anyway, I’m going to strangle her one of these days. I’m surprised I haven’t done it yet. She complains constantly about Feodor, but the fact is, he knows exactly how to play her, so that for all that she grumbles and whines about the influence of the Grekov tribe, she still takes their side without realizing she does so.”

“Nadine’s strength does not lie in diplomacy,” said Tess.

“Spoken kindly,” retorted Kira.

“Let her go,” said Tess softly. “Let her take her jahar and lead an expedition—oh, anywhere. Let her go south to Kirill Zvertkov’s army, or farther south still on a reconnaissance. We know little about the lands south and east of Jeds. There are some interesting manuscripts coming north to us from Byblos.” Like the anatomy manuscript Ilya had been looking at. Tess was impressed by the Byblene scholars; they were strangely ahead of their time.

“Leaving Feodor to raise the children?” Kira asked sarcastically.

Irena coughed. “In fact, Feodor is a good father. He might have made a good etsana’s husband, had he only married one. He would not indulge Lara so much if it didn’t irritate Nadine. But I think you are right, Tess. Nadine has given our tent two healthy daughters. If her heart lies elsewhere, then I think we may safely let her go.”

Tess chuckled, low in her throat. “I know what she would like most. Do you recall Marco Burckhardt, the khaja man who rode with my brother’s court?”

“I do,” said Irena.

“The one Sonia took as a lover,” Kira said.

“The same. Nadine and Marco could travel into the southern lands, or east along the Golden Road, without a jahar. They could bring back far more valuable intelligence that way, and travel as far and as long as they please.”

“That would be dangerous.”

“Exactly. Now we must only convince Ilya to agree.”

“My nephew will agree once I have spoken to him.”

There was no answer to that. Tess kissed Irena and Kira on either cheek, in the formal style, and went to curl up in the blanket with Natalia.

On the final day Tess held Natalia back from the front ranks as the army closed the animals into an arena circumscribed by their own line of advance. This part of the hunt she did not like as well, because it reminded her too much of a siege. When Irena Orzhekov rode forward through the lines to let loose the first arrow, as was her right and duty, Tess could not bring herself to let Natalia, who was after all not yet eight years old, go along and watch.

“But, Mama—!”

“It isn’t safe. You couldn’t see anyway.”

But they could hear the howling and screams of the animals, muted by the cheers of the riders. Tess was reminded suddenly and bitterly of the first—and as it happened the last—battle she had actually fought in. She remembered eleven-year-old Katerina finishing off wounded khaja soldiers with a dagger up through the palate, not enjoying it but simply doing it because it had to be done. Was that what she wanted for Natalia and Yuri?

Natalia, fuming, eyed her with a blend of rebellion and resignation. She was not quite ready to go directly against her mother’s wishes. “Papa would let me go,” she said suddenly, trying a new line of attack.

“He isn’t here.”

“I’m going anyway!”

Tess stared her down. Natalia began to sniff and then to cry. “Oh, Talia….”

“Tess! Tess!” Like her uncle, Nadine had never shown much interest in hunting, going along mostly because it was expected of her.

At this moment, Tess was glad to see her. “Why did you leave?”

“Nothing interesting left to watch. I think Mother Orzhekov is going to break the circle early. Talia, whatever are you crying for? Tess, did you hear about Vasha?”

“About Vasha?”

A roar went up from the assembled army. Tess grabbed for the reins of Natalia’s horse and steadied Zhashi with her knees. They were not in the direct line of escape, but as the first animals broke for freedom in the gaps opening for them in the ring, it was like a force of nature roiling forth. The ground shuddered with their running. With shrieks of laughter and fierce yells, bands of mounted archers raced after the fleeing animals. The simple energy of it sent Tess’s adrenaline rocketing, and she laughed. Natalia watched with wide eyes as the arena collapsed and wild animals of all sizes, riders galloping after them, dispersed back into the plains.

After a long while, the army that still remained formed into orderly groups and began the ride back to Sarai. Tess let go of Natalia’s reins and swung Zhashi around to fall in beside Nadine. “Were you saying something about Vasha? Did Andrei. Sakhalin bring word from his brother’s army? Vasha isn’t—!” She broke off, but the twinge of worry faded as quickly, because Nadine looked positively smug, as she only did when she saw trouble brewing for someone else. Yes, it was long past time to get her out of camp.

“No, Andrei Sakhalin didn’t bring back word of Vasha from Yaroslav Sakhalin’s army. He brought back Vasha. In disgrace.”

“What! But then Irena must have known last night… why didn’t she tell me?”

“She didn’t want you riding back to Sarai to intervene, no doubt.”

“It’s nothing to laugh about! In disgrace. What does that mean?”

“How should I know? Except I caught up to him last night, to Andrei Sakhalin, that is, and he reports that Yaroslav was disgusted with Vasha’s behavior and threw him out.”

“Oh, gods. Talia, I want you to find Mother Orzhekov and ride with her.”

“But, Mama, I want to ride with you!”

“Talia, my love, I don’t have time to argue. Do what I say.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Dina, give me your horse.”

“No. You have your own string. Can I come with you?”

“Vulture,” said Tess. Nadine only laughed.

Tess was far too worried to try to stop Nadine from coming with her. She did not even bother to stop to remonstrate with Irena Orzhekov, who would feel no need to defend her decision in any case. She paused only long enough to make sure that Natalia was safely under her grandmother’s wing.

Then she and Nadine rode in stages, back across the rolling plain to Sarai. Even so, the jahar they followed rode faster. She reached Sarai six days later without having met up with it.

Riding up behind her own great tent, seeing Ilya’s golden banner flapping peacefully at the top, Tess hoped wildly that perhaps, just perhaps, she and Nadine had beaten the jahar to Sarai. But when she dismounted and came around front, handing off her horse to one of the guards, she saw a scene that dismayed her. The ring of guards had been pulled up tight against the tent, as if the tent itself was under siege…or had walled itself off against outside interference.

“Mama! Mama!” Yuri ran to her from Sonia’s tent. She scooped him up and kissed him. “Papa won’t let anyone in the tent. He’s very angry at Vasha.”

Tess looked Yuri over and reassured herself that he was healthy. “What do you mean he won’t let anyone in the tent?” She set him down and marched over to her awning, placing herself squarely in front of Konstans Barshai, who stood at attention, fully armed, together with nine of his men. “Where is my husband?”

“Inside the tent.”

“Why? Is it true as my son tells me that he refuses to see anyone?”

“No, Cousin,” said Konstans, lapsing into the formal style, so that Tess understood that he was acting wholly in his capacity as dyan of Ilya’s personal guard, “he refuses to see the young man known as Vassily Kireyevsky, who has brought disgrace onto this tent.”

“Where is the young man known as Vassily Kireyevsky?”

He pointed with his spear.

The central tents of the Orzhekov tribe were laid out around the huge tent that served as Mother Orzhekov’s residence. All tent entrances faced east to let in the light of the rising run, and Tess had sited her tent so that she could see the central plaza and the library to the front and, horizontally, the awning and carpets that marked the entrance of Mother Orzhekov’s residence. It was unnaturally quiet for this time of day, midmorning. To the left, Sonia sat under her awning and wove. She lifted a hand to acknowledge Tess’s arrival but curiously did not move to come greet her. Nadine practically bounced, she was so excited.

“That’s him!” Nadine said loudly. “That’s Vasha. Why is he sitting there under the awning with Niko?”

Holding Yuri’s hand, Tess walked over to Mother Orzhekov’s great tent, Nadine hard on her heels. It was indeed Niko, sitting composedly on a pillow and playing….

Khot! Tess stared.

Vasha sat hunched over the board. He always looked intense, but sitting there playing khot with Niko he seemed to have honed that intensity to such a fine point that it was painful to look at him. He was concentrating all his attention, all his nerves, on the game itself. When he reached out to set down a stone, his hand trembled.

Niko grunted. He glanced up, took note of Tess, and looked back down at the board. “Well, my boy, I think you’ve won again.”

A pained noise came out of Vasha’s throat, forced through closed lips. Clearly, winning at khot even against as wily and experienced a player as Niko gave him no pleasure. His dark skin had a leached-out undertone, as if he were sick or sick at heart. His black hair looked unkempt.

“Shall we play again?” asked Niko in the voice he might use to quiet a nervous horse.

“Why do you keep me sitting out here?” said Vasha through gritted teeth. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s good training.”

Tess could tell by the shift of Vasha’s shoulders that he was about to protest. Abruptly his shoulders sagged, and he gave in. “Very well. Another game.” Then, alerted by Yuri coming to crouch down next to him, he looked up and saw Tess.

He went red. His body stiffened and his expression froze into a rictus of shame and dread that struck Tess dumb. Nadine drew in breath to speak. Vasha leapt up and fled into the safety of Mother Orzhekov’s great tent.

“Vasha?” Yuri stood and pushed past the tent flap to follow Vasha inside.

“Well!” said Nadine into the silence.

Niko gathered up the khot stones.

“What happened?” asked Tess, kneeling down to help him. She was shocked to find her hands shaking.

Niko cleared his throat. “There was an unfortunate scene. That was yesterday.”

“Why are you sitting out here playing khot with Vasha?”

“To make sure that everyone sees him, to see that both Stassia and Sonia Orzhekov, as representatives of their mother, accede to his presence under the Orzhekov awning.”

“As I recall, Niko, you were among those who expressed misgivings about bringing a boy into my tent on the strength of khaja inheritance laws, by acknowledging Ilya as his father.”

Niko smiled down at the khot board, a musing smile. Then he slanted his gaze up at Tess. “It is true I did not approve of the khaja inheritance laws then. Nor do I now. Nor will I ever. It is also true that Vassily is young and has a great deal to learn, and has conducted himself badly. But you adopted him as your son, Tess. That counts for a great deal. And, gods,” he shook his head admiringly, “the boy can play khot!”

W
HEN THEY CAME ACROSS
scouts from the great birbas, Riasonovsky suddenly turned stubborn.

“No,” he said to Vasha, “you may not go to Mother Orzhekov or to the Prince of Jeds. My orders were to deliver you to Bakhtiian, and Bakhtiian is in Sarai. That is where we are going.”

So they rode on. With each dawn Vasha grew more nervous until he reached such a high pitch of anxiety that he thought he would burst. By the time Sarai rose out of the plains, an exotic blend of jaran camp and khaja city, he could only choke out one-word answers—when anyone bothered to address a comment to him, which wasn’t often.

They rode into the city. The khaja along the avenue spared them not a second glance. But as they moved into the great jaran camp, they gained a second escort: children and elders, mostly, all those who had not ridden out on the birbas and were eager for some excitement. Vasha endured their presence without flinching. First Katerina began to wave and call out to people she knew, then Stefan. He heard his own name called, but he had to keep his eyes fixed on Riasonovsky or he would not have the courage to ride up to Tess Soerensen’s tent. The closer they got, the more his vision narrowed, until at last he saw the gold banner in the distance, riding ever closer, ever closer, until he could see Mother Orzhekov’s huge tent beyond, could make out the colors and patterns on the walls of Tess’s great tent, could see the awning itself where a dark-haired man sat on a pillow playing khot with Stefan’s grandfather Niko while a soldier read to him from a report. Vasha thought he could practically read the words on the parchment, his sight had grown so keen and so focused.

Bakhtiian looked up. He jumped to his feet.

As if in slow motion, Riasonovsky dismounted and walked forward to speak to Bakhtiian. All the while he talked, and it went on and on and on until Vasha thought probably the whole day had passed and another one taken its place, Bakhtiian stared straight at Vasha.

In one more instant his father’s stare was going to obliterate him. Misri stood with perfect stillness, his only ally, even as Vasha’s hands convulsed on the reins. And all the while Bakhtiian’s expression grew colder and more furious.

Riasonovsky finished speaking and, as if in precaution, took one step back.

There was silence. Vasha hoped it would last forever.

“Katya!” That was Aunt Sonia’s voice, full of joy. “My dear girl—” But her voice faltered, swallowed by the stillness that radiated out from Bakhtiian.